"On horseback?"
"No, he was on foot."
"I must speak with him. Lend me your horse, and I will try to overtake him."
The interpreter obeyed, and M. de Morin set off at a hand-gallop in the direction of the Blue River.
He overtook M. Périères just as that individual reached Madame de Guéran's house, and was about to enter. Leaping from his horse he joined his former friend, who, on seeing him, stopped and smiled sarcastically.
"You are calling on the Baroness?" said the young painter, in an unsteady voice.
"That is evident," replied the man of letters, calmer, but quite as pale as his interlocutor, "and you are, doubtless, on the same errand as myself?"
"Identically the same," replied M. de Morin. They looked at each other. One word more, and these two men, who in reality esteemed each other, who had conceived and still entertained a sincere affection for each other—these two men, carried away by their passion, forgetful of the past, feverish with anxiety, and madly in love, were on the point of doing each other one of those mortal injuries which it is impossible to pardon, or to forget.
Fortunately, M. Périères retained just enough self-control to say to
M. de Morin—
"Some explanation between us is necessary and desirable. Do you wish it to take place in this house—in the presence of the lady who lives here?"